Forsaken Bonds
by Jason Strong
Summary: Alexia is a forsaken who is stuck between two worlds-that of her human life and of her life as a forsaken Horde warrior. And as she prepares to raid Stormwind City, which she was born, lived, and died in, she is stricken with nostalgia and seeks answers to questions that have plagued her since her first death, which causes jeapordize her life and the lives of others. Two-shot.


**A/N So, as I think it says in my profile, I generally work on my own stuff now, but I just had to post this. I'm experimenting with different styles and themes currently, so I'd really like to get your feedback. I put a lot into this story, so let me know what you think. **

**It's a little ranty for most of this chapter, but there will be action in the closing chapter to be posted soon, with an ending I think that you'll like. **

The cold air bit mercilessly at Alexia's rotted cheeks, contracting what was left of her skin into a crawfish-like exoskeleton, making it hard and uncomfortable for her to move or speak. The cold months had been especially hard lately, the bitter winds testing the perseverance of the Horde, trying to keep it from overstepping the bounds that it relentlessly and continuously shattered, never once even considering that perhaps it was Azeroth itself telling them not to test the delicate balance of the post-Cataclysm world.

Stubborn was the word that Alexia used to define the Horde. Not _brave _or _valiant; _stubborn. They believed what they believed and that was that—and unfortunately for her, they believed that Azeroth favored the Horde and there was no convincing them otherwise. Countless prophets, scholars and mages that studied the cosmos held audience with Garrosh Hellscream, trying to convince him that now wasn't the time to wage war on the weakened Alliance, that Azeroth was healing and any sudden changes could yield unpredictable consequences, but he insisted they press on.

True as it was, however, that the Horde had made considerable progress in the conflict against the Alliance. They gained more ground each day, more supplies, and contested territories were won and held by the Horde at record advancements. It was a sudden and favorable shift in circumstance; as if they Alliance had lost their spirit and could no longer fight. Whatever the case, many Horde citizens wanted to take the time for an unannounced ceasefire while they rested, rebuilt, and prepared themselves for the remaining winter months. But the leaders wanted to take full advantage of the situation before the Alliance made a comeback and they lost their footing in the war.

Alexia hardly cared either way. Though it would have been nice to rest the remaining two months of the winter, she also recognized the strategic purposes of battling against their longtime enemies while they were weakened. Though, she couldn't say that she would decide the same if she were the Warcheif.

She had a choice not to fight if she didn't want to—she wasn't like most of her race who felt obligated to serve the Horde because they gave her a second chance at life. While she was grateful to a certain extent, she couldn't help but remember that while they gave her a second life, she never asked for them to do so. Nonetheless, she was consistently tortured by her first life, which, though short and unlived, was less sickening, less lonely for her. But this one, she supposed, was just slightly better than being dead.

There wasn't much she had forgotten about her human life. She had died young, but somehow it felt as if she had lived longer, fuller, more openly. Alexia used to love the cold; she would walk away from the fire on cold nights, towards the canal and look at herself, young and beautiful, so full of life and potential in the reflection created by the moon. And then, as she leaned in to try to get a better look, her mother would notice that she was missing and yell for her to come back to the fire to get warm again.

_That _was her life. Now, the cold felt like a curse—she was always cold, it was one of the things that came with being dead. She avoided water, as well, because now when she caught a glimpse of her reflection illuminated by the moon, instead of seeing her long, thick brown hair and her smooth, ivory skin, she saw thin, brittle, colorless strands that fell out of her scalp disdainfully, and pale skin with sickly yellow and green gashes from wounds that never healed. Even as a hardened war veteran, her own reflection startled her each time.

But she had lived this life for so much longer than she had the other. But each memory of her last was so vivid, so colorful, while sometimes now she found herself forgetting some of her many accomplishments as a warrior of the Horde, because she found herself, still, years later, reliving memories of her life in Stormwind, as an Alliance trainee, remembering the cold nights she sliced at the training dummies or sparred with her sister.

Her sister. Though a year younger, her sister was wise and woeful, and was vastly more resourceful than Alexia could ever hope for herself. Dana, a beautiful mage, spent most of her time with her nose buried in a book, learning about magic and the history of the fascinating but devastating war that had overtaken all of their lives. Still, she could see her sister leaning back against an old barrel, her hair pulled back, chewing on her finger nails with her eyes racing back and forth over the pages of a dusty book she had borrowed from the library, her robes stained from sitting on the ground.

Often times, Alexia would return to the sepulchers of the Eastern Kingdoms, were the forsaken frequently awoke, hoping to see her sister at least one more time, whether dead or undead. But never had she seen her sister, or anyone she knew from her time as a human for that matter. She was alone, and probably always would be.

So she fought.

She fought not because she felt like she owed a debt to the Horde, but because somehow fighting the Alliance brought her close to her old life and her sister. Shortly after she was resurrected, she joined up with a group of Horde which acted as her makeshift family. They watched out for each other, stayed together, and trusted each other with their lives. These were necessary traits because they spent most of their time in hostile territories—scouting Alliance land in Eastern Kingdoms, raiding cities, slaying guards, town leaders, civilians who tried to be heroes, sleeping wherever they could, eating what they scavenged.

It always perplexed her as to why the other members of her group killed—what was in it for them? She killed because it made her feel alive, brought her closer to the way she was. But them; they didn't really have a reason to fight other than their hatred for the Alliance, but where did that hatred come from? Either way, everyone had their own sad story, a loss or two from the war effort, which would make the _sane_ man run away from the conflict. Sanity was a laughable quality to have in Azeroth, though.

Now, she found herself flying through the frigid night, on her way to lay siege to the city of her youth—the city in which she was born, lived, and died, and had now been born again to destroy. Her wyvern glided through the sky, her small group trailing behind her, all completely suited battle. As she looked at them, nostalgia crept over her as she realized that this may be the last time that she ever saw them. And she knew that this time, if she died, there would not be a third chance.

They weren't going into battle alone, of course. After Thrall stepped down as Warcheif and Garrosh Hellscream took the reins, he created a plan which he believed would lead to the falling of Stormwind. This plan included Alexia and her group. Having heard of the five heroes, he recruited them, making them temporary Commanders in the Hellscream Vanguard. It was an honor, yet at the same time, it was a burden for Alexia, as most of the Hellscream Vanguard fought out of rage and hate, a practice in which she found lead to sloppy failures on the battlefield. She learned and in return taught those who would listen that the best results came when one remained unattached and objective to the battle, not letting your emotions get in your way.

As they flew over the Northern Mountains that bordered Stormwind, she allowed one last time for her thoughts to drift to her human life. Alexia clearly remembered the chill in the daytime air, accentuated by the boiling porridges and cooking meat aromas drifting away in the smoke. She could still make out her sister's teenage form as she sat on the dock, robe drawn to her knees, dunking her feet into the canal while reading her book, occasionally looking up at the citizens that passed by; mercenaries that bartered with civilians, guards that clanked noisily by, and other kids who laughed and played through the streets.

She remembered how her sister's dark brown hair took uncooperatively to the wind, making it impossible to concentrate entirely. But she shared their mother's clean complexion and ice blue eyes. It was often this image that came to Alexia's mind when she thought of Dana, mostly because it was the one time she really looked at her and noticed how every etch of her features breathed to life with her, how she seemed eternally youthful—ageless, even. It was the time in which she noted Dana, thin and fragile, would be the first to go in the impending conflict, while Alexia would be left to fight for what was left of the world once she was gone.

Oh, the bittersweet irony.

A favorite memory of Alexia's took place at this moment as well; when Dana took another look up from her illuminated manuscript, she noticed her sister staring at her. Dana smiled, shaking her hair out of her face once more.

"What are you looking at? Have I got something on me?" She laughed daintily, closing her book with one thumb to hold her place and delicately setting her hand on the bare chest exposed by the neckline on her robe, playing with the gem of the necklace that their mother had given her, causing Alexia to grab the matching gem around her neck and twitter nervously with it.

Alexia, suited in plate from her afternoon spar with her friends from school turned bright red, having been caught staring at her sister from afar, admiring her when they had maintained a certain level of rivalry between them paused for a second, dumbstruck.

"I..uh.." She stammered idiotically. "No…"

Her sister rose, staring at her as if she were an orc, letting her robe release and drape accordingly, and began dusting herself off. "Is something wrong then?"

"No." Alexia repeated again, this time more firm.

They locked eyes for a few seconds, before Dana, without any further inquisition, walked off down the street towards their home, looking frazzled and embarrassed. But it was Alexia who undoubtedly had the egg on her face, because it seemed to her in that final moment before Dana went away that she had somehow, smart as she was, figured out exactly what it was that Alexia was doing. She turned around after she felt it was safe, curiously trying to catch one last glimpse of her sister, but she was lost in the afternoon hustle of horses and street performers.

Alexia's wyvern hit the hillside with a thud, shaking her spitefully from her wholehearted trance. Muscle memory kicked in instantly as she slung her leg over the creature's back and slid out of the saddle, and began stacking the reins under piles of rocks. She didn't know if it would be the last time she'd ever see her faithful mount, but somehow didn't feel anything but indifference as she released the reins. When she looked up, she saw the small, radiating light peering shyly over the hilltop. Knowing instantly what it was, she walked slowly to the side, to avoid detection but to still get a good look.

Suddenly, she was seized by the old sights and smells of her childhood. The captivating and complex system of streets and canals that was Stormwind City knocked the wind from out of her. Yet, even as the wind still blew, it no longer seemed so cold, and her old life no longer seemed so far away—she could smell the porridges and cooking beef of her childhood, all laid out in front of her. It was as if Stormwind was welcoming her back to where she lived, loved, and died.

But she knew she wouldn't be welcomed.

"It's beautiful." She was slightly startled by a soft voice from behind her.

She looked. It was a priest named Elysia who belonged to her group of bounty hunters long before the offer was extended from the Vanguard. A young blood elf that focused her powers on both condemning those she deemed unworthy and helping those who were.

Her gaze drifted back to the glowing glory of the city. "Such talk in the presence of the Vanguard would be considered blasphemous." Alexia told her, shifting the helm she held in her right arm slightly, feeling the cold plate pressing against her nerveless arm. Her tone was cool and objective. "But yes, it is."

A moment of silence passed between them as they both took in the sight of the city they were about to turn upside down.

"Are you going to be able to do it?" Elysia asked, reserved and quietly.

Alexia's head snapped quickly in her direction. "What would make you think I couldn't?" She spat.

The priest's blond-white hair reflected the light of the moon, much like the water in the canals of the city. "I'm just concerned for you."

Out of the corner of her eye, Alexia could see the rest of her group finishing their preparations. A few had even directed their attention at the two women of the party.

"I don't need your pity." Alexia barked at Elysia. The blood elf acted as though she were going to speak more, but at the last minute decided against it. Alexia took one more look over the city—taking in the ornate architecture and quiet streets in a way in which she knew she'd probably never see again, and then walked away towards the rest of the group.

"Are we prepared?" She asked. They exchanged looks, and then nodded.

Their gaze then drifted to Haulik, a goblin mage. He sighed, taking a deep breath, but then raised his staff. A small, bright light filled the air and suddenly, Alexia felt slightly nauseous, followed by a quick stint of lightheadedness. Her world began to spin slowly, and as time passed it became more rapid, causing her to close her eyes—just for a moment.

In that moment, however, she was somewhere else.

Abruptly, she was in a small town called Goldshire just a few miles down from Stormwind, rapidly slashing her axes through the air, slicing through two humans at a time, dodging guards, looting bleeding corpses of anything that could be of use to her or her friends. When she had a second to look, she tried locating the group. All she saw was masses of humans and night elves and dwarves all stacked tightly upon themselves, but somehow she knew they were still alive, ending the lives of humans substantially less experienced in battle than they were.

She took a moment, as she always did, to sift through the chaos. This time, however, she wasn't looking for her friends; instead Alexia was hoping to see her sister somewhere in the midst of the anarchy. Ironically, she didn't really want Dana to see her and the monster she'd become. Alexia just wanted to know that her sister was alive and well, that somehow she'd beaten the war-torn world in which they lived, and that she breathed in the comfort of a home and a family she loved.

Of course, however, there was no success in her search.

When next she looked, Elysia stood into the doorway of the inn, motioning for her to come for cover. Alexia leapt into the doorway, narrowly missing the fate of an arrow which instead of lodging in her chest where it originally sought, plunged itself into the mailbox. Such a close call with death was such a frequent occurrence that it didn't faze her whatsoever. She felt the blood elf's caring grip on her wrist as she pulled her passed the hallway into the main room of the inn.

"We have to get the others and leave, there are far too many we can't hold them back!" She shouted over the cries of battle outside. Her voice was slightly panicked and her tone wavering. Elysia had been the only one who didn't want to raid Goldshire. Where we saw gold and a resolution to absolute boredom, she saw death and retaliation.

Alexia opened her mouth to speak, but then was silenced.

Both the women shot glances over to the bar, where they had both surely heard a noise. They drew their weapons—two axes for Alexia, a dagger for Elysia—and slowly walked toward the bar. Alexia's mind raced with options of what the source of the noise could have been. She crept towards it, Elysia at her side, and when the time was right jumped into the open space where the rum was kept, keeping her axes steady, available to strike.

What she saw surprised her.

A human woman cowered behind the bar, in peasant garb. She sobbed pathetically in the farthest corner, and began to incomprehensively scream in fear as she saw the two Horde members appear in front of her. But what startled Alexia, is that in her arms, she cradled a baby. The undead and the blood elf looked at each other, debating silently about what to do.

Thinking she understood, Elysia began to lunge, and the mother screamed louder, tears exploding from her eyes like fireworks. Alexia grabbed her arm before she could do anything else. Confused, Elysia relaxed. Alexia thought she would never see another human baby again for as long as she lived. But there, right in front of her was symbol of what was. They were smaller than she remembered, and cuter than she remembered. Perhaps because she never appreciated it before, perhaps because she was so ugly now that anything looked beautiful to her.

The baby began to cry, a noise that, when she was alive, drove her absolutely insane. Now, however, it sounded like music. That baby wasn't crying because it had lost someone—it wasn't crying because of the war. It was just crying. It had no cause or justification for why it was crying that they could comprehend. The baby wasn't Alliance or Horde—it just…_was. _Innocent and benevolent and passive to the world around it.

She looked at the mother.

"Go." She demanded, her old language rusty and foreign on her tongue. "Get out."

The mother raised her head, but didn't make eye contact with Alexia. Shock registering, she hesitated, confusion and hope at war in her mind. Alexia stepped to the side, catching a glimpse of Elysia who was curious, but not judgmental.

The human took a moment to compose herself, scrambling to her feet, wiping the tears from her eyes. She pressed her baby's head tightly against her chest, keeping maternal guard over it and muffling the cries. She then took off in a run, but only to be stopped by Alexia grabbing her arm and pulling her in.

The woman yelped in surprise, and then continued to sob unapologetically. Alexia got close to her, hoping to catch one last look at the baby, but the mother held it tight. She was sure the human was horrified that a living corpse gripped her arm, and she was sure her breath smelled like death itself, but she didn't particularly care.

"But don't think either of you are completely safe." She warned her. "You're never completely safe anywhere."

And with that, Alexia released the human, and they watched her flea from the inn, into the chaos of the battle outside. They waited a few moments after she left, and the priest, just as Alexia figured she would, spoke up.

"What did you tell her?" She asked.

"The truth."

And that was that.

"Are you coming?"

The small voice barely registered to her.

"Alexia!"

Suddenly, she was back on the hillside that overlooked the Alliance capital. She was no longer gazing at a beautiful sign of hope and innocence, but she was back and was expected to destroy once more. On the hillside stood Elysia, the second to last to jump and make landfall, because of course she was waiting to check on Alexia.

"I'm fine!" The forsaken snapped, pushing past Elysia and, without second thought, plunging herself off the cliff, feeling as light as a feather as she kicked off the mountainside. Straining her eyes, she could see the other three falling silently to safety. A mage's gift of slow fall was perhaps one of Alexia's favorite entry strategies. Her nausea had slowly subsided, turning into a warm feeling of comfort—as if she were safely tucked away in an inn, away from all things that plagued her.

The air carried a chilled silence as she descended. It was mocking and comforting at the same time; for she knew that she was likely descending to her real death, but she couldn't help but to feel as if she had truly died long ago. This "new" life was a life of no positive externalities, nothing that kept her grounded. If she died tonight, she felt as if no one would even notice. Though overdramatic and incorrect at its' core, it was a feeling that she had kept with her since her revival, but was finally embracing. There just simply was no reason for her to live when she had nothing to lose.

_There are numbers, _she reminded herself as she drew closer to her destination, seeing the large blue-painted arch in which two of the others had already landed. _And the strategies you offer to the Vanguard which is key to their success. _But was that supposed to fulfill her? Was that truly enough to justify living in torture day after day, slaughtering those she used to collaborate with? And was she alone? There were many undead loose in Azeroth—so she couldn't help but to wonder whether she was alone in her philosophies.

Her feet hit the solid roof quietly, and shortly after her, Elysia landed in the midst of the group, gracefully joining them. Alexia looked at her team, those who had been there for her through everything, loyally watching her back, looking at her for every move, depending on her like dogs to their owner. They were all dogs.

_What do they fight for? _ She wondered to herself.

The harbor was busy with innocent workers that were likely paid unjust wages for their late evening work. They all took a moment to absorb the races of the Alliance working together in a way they weren't used to seeing—all of them bartering with mercenaries from across the land spending the city's money in order to feed their families. True, they were fighting for survival still, however now it wasn't against those who would maliciously take their lives for them for the take of control over a broken world.

Alexia glanced over the ocean to the lighthouse, which, when she was alive she had spent several restless nights staring at, wondering the purpose of such a tower. Now, the purpose of the piece of antiquity was a signal for her team that it was time for them to move. The idea was that they would be ready to join a few other small groups in the palace after the Vanguard landed on shore to attack purely as a distraction. Ideally, the Royal Guards would be ordered elsewhere to fend off the attack while the King was left vulnerable for a few short minutes while the transitions took place. The job of the small groups was to infiltrate the palace at that time, and slay the Alliance King.

Easier said than done, it had a lot of variables, but Alexia wasn't nervous at all.

They each practically leaned in anticipation, trying to force the lighthouse to begin the signal by will. With all their eyes set on the lighthouse, it slightly worried Alexia that they would be seen, which would not only kill them, but it'd likely ruin the entire operation, which was in her opinion, silly anyway. Why attack a city solely to slay their king? Why lay siege against a city in which you had no intention of taking? To break their spirit? To prove your worth?

Alexia had proven her worth when she showed mercy against the mother and child in the inn at Goldshire. Garrosh Hellscream needed to figure out how to prove his worth in a way that didn't cost the lives of hundreds of innocents. Perhaps it would be best for the operation to fail—to hinder Hellscream's precious pride.

She took a moment, as she always tried to, to admire the casual beauty of the moon, half hidden by the lighthouse, casting a dark shadow on the left side of the water, making it look like a black abyss. The right side, however, was lit elegantly, and the light of the moon paling the light of the tower—Azeroth's way of once again proving it's superiority to the inventions and entanglements of the mortal races.

Oh so subtly that she could barely see it, the light inside the lighthouse flickered quickly, and then returned back to normal. It had been taken; it was theirs. Alexia took a quick glance down at the harbor once more. None of the dwarves or humans or other races of the Alliance present seemed to notice the small falter of the ever-so dependent light which had been trusted for as long as anyone could remember to bring light to those both at land and at sea. Their lack of awareness proved that little to none of them had battle experience, and would be slaughtered instantly. For their sake, she hoped they didn't have families.

Without saying anything, the group sprang into action, beginning to hurdle the city's outer wall, in which they would make their heroic and soon-to-be legendary hike to the palace. Before she realized what was happening, Alexia was boosted into the air, fondled by faceless yet familiar boosts, her necrotic hand reaching up to the top of the cold stone, she half leapt, half was tossed, and pulled herself over the top of the wall. No sooner than she had made the landing did the guard station about a hundred feet up frantically spring to life.

She rolled her eyes as their indistinct shouting cluttered the virgin air. They ran towards her, shouting obscenities first two, then five, then six total coming at her, sword drawn. In her peripheral vision she could see her group launching the next person up. Grabbing her axes from the sheath on her back, she readied herself for battle.

The first guard came at her with ferocity, swinging his sword while simultaneously and laughably hiding behind his shield. She brought her axe high into the air, and slung it forth with little regard. The edge of her large blade latched onto the top corner of his shield, causing him to yelp in pain as his arm was yanked downward, exposing the rest of his head and the top part of his chest and neck. Not moving the axe which held the shield, she then slung her other axe in the same violent fashion, brutally smacking him on the head, which was covered by a helmet, in an ungodly metal-to-metal sound, which was softened by the noise of his cracking neck. His body fell limp and he hit the ground with a thud.

By this time, Elysia had made it up onto the wall, and the rest of the group hastened themselves. She joined the battle with no hesitation, flinging her arms outward in a statuesque manner, which shot off a bright, hot spiraling release of power, which hit an oncoming guard with bull-like force, knocking him backwards onto his rear. The remaining four were coming in tightly, creating a formation which allowed them almost no good options. Amare, the tauren of their group was now on the wall. He drew his bow and began shooting. Most of his arrows hit against the shield then fell, useless to the stone.

Alexia charged at them, parrying a sword attack but getting nicked by the other, causing her to howl in pain. Adrenaline and anger grew within her, and she jabbed with all her might against a shield of one of the guards, pushing him back a few steps and creating an opening in the formation. Amare was ready, and shot an arrow, which was met by a bright flash of light created by Elysia, dazing the guard and causing him to stumble. Alexia kicked his sword across the aisle, he desperately tried to get up, but she stomped on his chest, taking him aback. She raised her axe over her head, moving her foot, when suddenly he began to scream.

Confused, she stepped back as he violently seized, shaking with pain. The air around her began to feel hot, and his plate armor started to take on a sickly orange color. She spun around, her mage stood behind her, baking the human in his armor. Slowly, the man's muscles released, and he lay dead, the smell of burnt flesh meeting their noses. When she looked back up, the others had taken care of the rest.

"How many more guard stations are there?" Asked Amare, his deep voice carrying.

They all looked at her. She glanced around at the dead guards, her eyes going to the sword she had kicked opposite the man who had been baked. She wondered if he had a family—if the others they killed alongside him were his friends. For the first time ever, her heart hung with pangs of guilt for slaying those who were too ignorant to know the difference between war and peace, those who don't understand the beauty of the city they protect aside from a haven from death.

_What did they fight for? _She asked herself, giving them one last look over.

She worked her way towards the sword, picked it up, and sheathed her own weapons. They were putting her at a disadvantage because of the small stage they were fighting on.

"I don't know." Alexia replied. "But we best get moving."

With that, there was no more hesitation, and the night was just beginning.


End file.
